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Andrea Phantom Draft-Brawl
An event where players phantom draft six packs before fighting a Silas the Undying brawl. Extra class cards are distributed: *1 Legendary *2x Sword Priestess Andrea *2x Andrea the Limitless *Pyrelord: 2x Cleric Andrea, 1x Celestial Andrea *Assassin: 2x Andrea the Corrupted, 1x Andrea the Unraveled *Druid & Sentinel: 2x Andrea the Augmented, 1x Engine of Justice Part 1: Andrea Andrea, High Priestess of the Sword, sat in the moonlight. She may have also been fidgeting. Only a little bit. Unsurprisingly, when your life consists of life-or-death battles against the horrors of the night, patience doesn't come easily. Andrea kept her eyes closed and breathed slowly, focusing on the training of her order. She pulled air in, and only let it slip out when the burn became too much. She was calm. She was centered. She was ready. But she was still not a patient person. And so she fidgeted. The crossroads had seen a great deal of traffic over the past few days, thanks to people fleeing the countryside for the safety of the cities on the coast. She had recently heard a bard talking about the cancerous force overtaking parts of West Kruna and calling it "The Unraveling." The name had stuck, and more and more people were referring to it by that title. For a little over a week, Andrea wandered the roads and struck down those who would prey upon the helpless as they sought refuge. But today, shortly before sunset, her supernatural senses caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand bolt upright; something was coming for her. Something bad. So she decided to meet it on the road, while most people were holed up in one of the nearby forts or towns for safety until the first light of dawn. Suddenly, there was a shift in the air and Andrea felt a presence standing behind her. She opened her eyes and let out a final breath. "Took you long enough to get here. My foot is nearly asleep." She stood in one fluid movement, spinning on her heel only to stop short out of disbelief and annoyance. Silas the Undying's yellow eyes stared back at her, simultaneously impassive and hateful as always. His crossbow was slung across his back, but those terrifyingly huge knives of his were in his hands. "Priest." The word floated and danced through the air, much like a breeze passing over an open grave. "I have come for The Sword." Andrea's eyes widened in surprise and her hand went to the handle sticking out of the holster on her back -- an unconscious gesture. She pulled the small, crystalline knife out, leaving the blades of her order in their sheaths hanging from her belt. Silas's gaze flicked to Andrea's hand and watched as the weapon shimmered and changed. There were blinding flickers of light; each time one faded away, a different weapon was in its place. Within seconds, the Sword of Many Angles had settled into the form of a dao from Nine Rivers. "I am not here for you, Priest of the Sword." Silas's voice was soft as cobwebs, but something about it sent a skitter up her spine. "I am only here for the blade. You know I do not lie." Andrea snorted. "And you know I'm not going to give this up without a fight." She lifted the weapon up into a ready position. "Come and get it." Without another word, Silas lunged. With a snarl, Andrea parried his blow. And so it went. She wasn't sure how long the two of them had been dancing in the moonlight. Time would sometimes dilate from her perspective, allowing her to press the attack and force Silas to retreat. At other times, he moved so fast that it was all she could do to deflect his strikes. Time moved strangely when one wielded the Sword of Many Angles. Probably the most unnerving thing about Silas was the silence that always surrounded him. He made no sounds of effort, never cried out in pain, and (most offensive) didn't even have the good grace to breathe hard. Andrea hated that last bit. She didn't begrudge Silas for what he was. In fact, there were certain things she admired about him (or her, depending on the body being animated at the time): Silas had never taken an innocent life, nor did his victims ever suffer needlessly, and he had never broken his word once it was given. He was a monster, yet he was a monster with honor. But Andrea couldn't forgive Silas for his silence. It was a matter of courtesy, after all: The least he could do was give the impression that fighting her was a challenge. She gritted her teeth and spun the Sword of Many Angles, knocking one of Silas's knives aside and managing to catch the other with the flat of her blade; a classic counter-parry sent that knife flying off into the darkness. Without missing a beat, Silas stabbed at her heart with his remaining knife. Andrea brought the dao back up to knock it aside, but was caught by surprise when his empty hand snaked out and grasped the sword's hilt. Locked in that dreadful grip, Andrea knew she had lost the battle. Silas had the strength of the dead on his side, and there was no way she could pry herself free before he struck her down. To her surprise, though, Silas put his own knife back in its scabbard. Behind his bone mask, the hate had left those yellow eyes. All that remained was a dreadful calm accompanying his words. "As I said: I am only here for the sword." A flicker of movement drew Anya's attention to the facets on the surface of the Sword of Many Angles. Running up the center of the blade, three different versions of herself stared back at her. The first reflection showed her clothed in white, a golden halo surrounded her and celestial wings extended from her shoulders. At her side, her beloved stood in regal armor, sword and shield at the ready. "Let me help," a musical voice sang in her head, filling her with hope and joy. "And we will heal the land." In the second, Andrea stared into eyes made of glass lenses. The woman in that facet was barely human, full of clockwork parts that made her look strange and alien. In the background, Andrea watched her lover weep. "Your flesh will fail." The cold, flat words made her flinch. "Only my augmentations will make eternal justice possible." But it was the final image that frightened Andrea. The cruel smiling face staring back at her was her own, but it was barely recognizable beneath the strange arcane markings and dark power the pulsed within. At that woman's feet, her love knelt submissively. "The shadows are full of power." The seductive laugh made her shiver. "Join with me and we will shake the world to its very core." All three versions could grant her the power to defeat Silas, but she only had seconds to make her choice. She closed her eyes, but the voices all hammered in her head. "Me." "Me." "Me." Andrea opened her eyes and focused on one of the reflections. "Yes." There was an explosion of light, knocking Silas away. After a few seconds, the light dimmed to reveal Andrea kneeling in a small crater. As she rose to stand, Silas watched from the ground and took in the woman's changed form. Power coursed through her, and it had shifted the balance in her favor. The Priest of the Sword marched over to her downed opponent and leveled the Sword of Many Angles at the undead assassin. He glared at the tip of the blade, but made no move: Even he feared its power. Andrea smiled. "I think it's time we had a discussion about who sent you to steal my weapon." Part 2: The Many Angles 2. It was a shame, Lady Macar idly noted, that a person's ability to brood was never celebrated like their other attributes. If brooding were something to be appreciated, bards would probably tell epics about Macar's ability to do so (instead of her terrifying undead army). Unsurprisingly, Macar was brooding. She sat on the Throne of the Unliving and stared off into space, dark thoughts running through her head. The repairs to the Undead Keep had finally been finished but that imbecile Aleister still had yet to be found, a fact that had fueled her foul mood for a while. Add in the fact that Silas still had yet to complete his mission to fetch the Sword of Many Angles and the sullen anger around the Undead Queen was palpable. Macar drummed her fingers on the skull at the end of an armrest and grimaced. If the assassin didn't return soon, she might have to take a more direct approach and go after the Priest of the Sword herself. Around that point, the Empress of Suffering noticed the muffled sounds of... what was that? It reminded her of when children ran around banging pots and pans together. Had one of the newly reborn dead gotten into the kitchens before wandering out into the halls? The Dead Queen stood and beckoned for one of her honor guard to investigate the strange clamor. The zombie soldier marched towards the throne room's door and was about to open it when the doors exploded off their hinges, catching the guard and knocking him several feet to the side. Fragments of wood and metal flew across the room, shredding several of the undead guards standing at attention. When the debris cleared from the air, Macar looked at the entrance. There, in the ruined doorway stood Andrea, High Priestess of the Sword. The two stared at one another for a long moment. Macar realized there was something... different about Andrea since the last time they'd encountered one another. The priest had always been strong, but now she was brimming with power. Her features had changed, too; Macar wouldn't have recognized the woman if it weren't for her signature armor. In Andrea's clenched fist, the Sword of Many Angles gleamed wickedly. She looked down at the weapon and smiled. "Heard you were looking for this." Macar grimaced: The Sword of Many Angles was capable of negating even the strongest magic, which meant that if she was going to take it from Andrea then she would have to get her hands dirty. Her hands snaked up to the crown of knives atop her head and plucked out two of the blades. She spun them idly, until she was comfortable with their weight in her hands. She nodded to herself and looked back up at Andrea, still standing at the top of the stairs. Andrea raised the Sword of Many Angles into a ready position. "Come on then. If you're hard enough." Macar was faster than Andrea would have ever expected, but the Empress of Suffering's technique was a bit rusty compared to that of someone who fought monsters on a regular basis. She feinted left and Macar fell for it, overextending herself to block the attack, which gave Andrea the opening she needed. Andrea's armored boot lashed out and kicked her enemy square in the chest, sending her sprawling. Before the should pick herself up, Macar found the Sword of Many Angles leveled against her throat. "Enough." It wasn't loud, but the word spread through the air, much like a drop of black ink in a glass of water. It spread out across the room until everyone heard it. Andrea turned her head, looking over her shoulder. There, standing in the mirror behind the Throne of the Unliving, was an ageless man with a mohawk made of ice. His eyes glowed a faint blue, and he looked more than a little angry. The Priest of the Sword made an irritated sound, letting the tip of her blade drop away from Lady Macar's throat. "And who exactly are you?" The man folded his arms and the rest of the throne room faded from the reflection in the mirror. Instead, endless shelves of books appeared behind him. "He is the Librarian." Macar spoke slowly, much like one would talk to an idiot child. "The guardian of the Kokytos Library." That caused Andrea to draw up short. The Kokytos Library was one of those places everyone told stories about, but no one had actually visited. If the legends were to be believed, its endless shelves contained every piece of knowledge. The Librarian shifted his weight. He flexed his fingers and a book materialized in his open hand. "The Sword must be lost, so that it may be found." Andrea bristled. "Why?" The Librarian lifted his hand to show Andrea the cover of the book he held. It was bound in simple black leather, but THE CHRONICLE OF WEST KRUNA was stamped in gold across the surface. "History says so." Lady Macar stood and brushed herself off. "There are certain occurrences throughout time that must be guaranteed if our world is to survive." She pointed towards the mirror. "The Kokytos Library contains the histories of all the worlds, and the Librarian sometimes reaches out through trusted associates to ensure crucial events happen." Andrea looked at the crystal blade. "And if I don't give up the Sword?" "Then the world will die." The Librarian's tone was flat; he was stating a certainty. Like it was already in the past for him. "Not today, not tomorrow, not even a century from when you are now. But it will happen, billions will die, and more worlds will fall. All for the want of your sword." Andrea raised the Sword and stared at its faceted surface, willing it to show her what would happen if the weapon stayed in her possession. Images blazed across the crystal blade, showing a terrifying future: West Kruna was a barren wasteland, stalked by nightmare beings. It was only a few seconds before she stopped looking, but what she saw would stay with her for a lifetime. Andrea dropped her head and held the Sword of Many Angles out to Lady Macar, pommel first. Macar, for her part, gently took the weapon and nodded in thanks to the Priest of the Sword. Andrea looked back at the Librarian, fixing him with a solid glare. "Next time, just ask." Without another word, she spun on her heel and stalked out of the throne room. Macar looked to the Librarian and raised an eyebrow. "Where does she go from here?" The Librarian laid the book down on a nearby table and shook his head. "She has her own part to play in the Wayfarer's journey, but her role has changed every time I read the Chronicle. Sometimes she helps heal the land, sometimes she blocks the Wayfarer's path, and sometimes they work in parallel of each other." The man frowned, staring down at the book. "It is a most vexing read." His eyes then snapped up, fixing onto the Sword of Many Angles and he nodded at the weapon. "You remember what to do?" "I could never forget." Those glowing blue eyes locked onto Macar's green ones, and the Librarian gave her a small smile. "As always, my friend, thank you." With that, the image in the mirror faded until only the throne room's reflection remained. Macar turned and began walking out of the throne room. With a gesture, her undead honor guard fell in behind her. Vihar, her lich advisor, appeared in the doorway just before she reached it. "My lady?" His words were polite, though he was clearly surprised to see the Undead Queen leading a troupe of walking corpses like they were headed for battle. "You are to run the keep while I'm gone." "And how long will that be?" "I don't know, honestly." Her pace didn't slow as she moved past her advisor. "I don't think anyone has ever walked to the Drowned Islands before."